Go Figure
by Moxie2
Summary: No title available w/o giving story away.


Go Figure ****

Go Figure

I stole away during my prolonged break and blew the rounds of smoke that exited my hallowed lungs slowly, as my body craved the taste of addiction. My head jerked at the sound of an interjection in my solo moment. The heavy metal door had been pushed open, a dark mass of hair peeking between the way of the door and the door itself. "Shift's back on." I exhaled deeply, letting the white wrap fall to the floor and my crème colored high heels, extinguish the seething smoke of the wrapper. I walked through the back door, leaving the asphalt parking lot with its designer cars. My feet hit the carpet as I went down the long corridor and up the three darkened flights of stairs that led past an overbearing door identical to the previous one and onto the first floor of above the crystal and gold clad lobby of the infamous Sheridan. I watched him walk over to me from the other end of the upholstered floor. He whiffed my scent. "You been smoking again, Red?" I shrugged. "Old habits die hard Gunther." 

"Well 8B wants room service. The carts downstairs, try not to let your ashes fall on their meals." 

"I wouldn't let that happen. It would ruin that little pinch of my spit in their food." He scowled at me. One day he would drop dead from a heart attack…or secondhand smoke, with that damn scowl on his face. I pounded the button on the elevator and waited for that ding, and Robert to take me the eight flights up. Silent conversation went on as we added words to the elevator music. That disreputable "ding" was heard and I walked onto the elegant floor, tightening my pink apron strings. 

I took the cart up that Robert had been sporting as an accessory while he waited for me to retrieve it and I knocked on the door, hoping they would hear me through the blares of rock music behind the door. A woman came to the door, barley covered, just a bra and lacey bottoms to hide the figure. She threw back her blonde hair and giggled. "You must be room service." I mocked her giggle and went on. "Uh, yeah, I totally must be." She held her idiotic grin and stepped aside. I twisted my face at the sight of discarded clothes, potato chips and everything else lying on the hotel room floor. I pushed the cart in to the center of the room, stopping it on a pair of jeans. She lifted the lid and called to her friends. Musicians, obviously, came from all parts of the room and broke apart the lobster that had cost so much, going out the door. They had left me here to clean up, what must've been the result of their three-day stay here. The room smelt of beer and vomit. Models and musicians were one in the same. I began skimpily picking up the clothes splattered on the floor and made my way to the unmade bed. Ugh! There's a rat living under a pair of sweatpants. This was my glamorous life. I had dreams of being famous, marrying rich, ever since I was a little girl. Look at me. I'm picking up after college dropouts, granted if they've managed to get that far and a rat five times my size and a condom on its back. Ugh…. I went on my way to the bathroom, needing to relieve the knots moving up my throat from the odor and the newfound experiences. I pushed open the door relieving a bathroom of white porcelain with more of the clothes and crap. I walked past the Jacuzzi and past the shower, going towards the toilet. I cringed at someone hurling up his own in a toilet. He sighed and swallowed a little, and fell back against the wall by him. A breath caught in my throat and the sickening enigmas were forgotten by the sight of him. He slowly acknowledged my presence and looked up at me with the same, shock. "Miles?" 

"Morgan." 

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What was Miles doing in a hotel room hurling his guts out? How did Morgan go from easy bedpost sorority member to minimum wage hotel employee? I'll explain it later, but in chapter 2 or 3, its only natural that we take a look at what the other 2 r doing. 

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